


Sincerely, Yours

by kangelique



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 07:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15431775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangelique/pseuds/kangelique
Summary: Peeta writes letters to Katniss during his time in recovery.





	Sincerely, Yours

**Author's Note:**

> The last few pages of the 'Mockingjay' briefly mentions how Katniss's letters were beginning to pile up, so what if some of those letters were from Peeta?

**Sincerely, Yours**

I only see her as we cast the votes. Her eyes are hollow. It's the beginning ghost of a girl who's lost her will to live. She's empty now. It hits me now that we are just children, and we were just children. 18 is still awfully young, but yet we're broken and our age can't play in the matter because already this pain has taken control. Frankly, I don't see strong people around this table. I see damaged. irrevocably damaged. And when she enters, I'm overwhelmed with wanting to sit her down to remind her of everything she needs to remember about herself. All the little details I've gathered. When our eyes flit away from each other I'm taken back to a time when we would do the same, although it was innocent, unknowing. This is still just as innocent and unknowing. It's like we're kids again, and for a minute we both stop to stare at each other over the green, but then she takes in the licks of flames that now caress my hands and we're not kids anymore. We're just a boy and girl that once knew each other. Maybe not so much now. And that little girl and boy have never felt as far away from my memories as when she walks out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

I only see her as they take her away. Kicking, screaming, panicking, pushing, and fighting against the guards. It's a different Katniss than the one I'm used to. Than the one I saw before. But she's desperate, and alone, and scared, and I know she calls out for Gale. He just turns away, not allowing himself to see it. I get why he won't. He killed her sister, and right now she's pleading with her wild eyes to kill her too, but he can't. I've known of that vow they made that they would rather die than go through torture. I vowed myself the same thing. But in this moment, I can tell neither of them would have done it. They care too much for each other. And maybe I care for her. Maybe a part of me in there does because I feel my feet move before my brain can process it, and then I'm being stopped by Haymitch and he's telling to stay where I am. I can only nod numbly as I'm split with what to do. In truth, I want to go after her, to comfort her, to hold her while she's in those damp four walls of a prison. That's one part of me. The other part is confused, completely confused. Because I can't understand why a part of me could care so much for her when all the lies planted in my head seem so real that sometimes I still fall right into them. Or not sometimes. Most of the time. 

Haymitch ends up going, and I'm left to stand there. My confusion is what makes me move slower than the rest of them. But as I look on toward the distance from which she's now gone, pearl that fell from her pocket clutched in my hand, I know that my confused side is the one that wins out this time.

 

* * *

 

 

I only see her in a small glimpse from my window as her and Haymitch go board the train that will take them back to our district. I don't see her during the weeks her trail goes on. I ask to see her, even though I didn't know what I would do when I was there. Haymitch said no, said she's to be kept in confinement. Dr. Aurelius said no too, said I'm not ready. He's right, I'm not ready. And I know I'm not ready. Yet the confused part of me wishes to see her, wants to see her. Not for answers of my complicated memories, but just to be there. If I had been allowed to see her, I don't think we would have talked. I don't think I wanted to talk. 

There are moments from the train that I remember that aren't tampered. Those are just mine. And I know we both let our guard down those nights. I held her, and she kept herself tight to me like we were the only two people helping each other through the shadows. So I know a part of me wanted to confirm those nights. See if they were true, if they felt the same. To know my mind wasn't playing tricks on me, wasn't making me illusions and feeding me lies just like the rest of my so-called memories. It was a hell in itself. So when my sessions began, I was open. I wanted to know of those nights. I thought a lot about those nights. I kept thinking the more I thought about it, the more true it had to be. Because it had to mean something if it didn't just go away, if it came back even more in my dreams--the rare nights I did have dreams--and I could finally sort through what was real and what was poisoned. But I still wasn't sure. I felt like I could never be sure. And I didn't ask to be allowed to return to 12. I hated staying in the Capitol. It only fueled my hell worse, sometimes more and sometimes less. But the part of me that was slowly getting better, felt scared. Scared to leave even though I wanted to run out of here as fast as possible. Scared to have to face a place left in ashes. My home in ashes. And finally, scared to have to see the girl that was there on my mind, like a bird singing a song to recovery. Or at least leading the way to something that felt like recovery.

Yet as the months passed, she was still there. And I was still here. Both faded, but there.

 

* * *

 

I'm painting when he comes in. He never usually comes in to visit in the afternoons, but today he does. I greet him, putting my brush down, expecting this to be a long conversation if now my sessions have been moved to be early and late too without me knowing. I thought I was doing good. My episodes have certainly weakened. We've discovered a few things that trigger them the most. Lightning is the worse. It reminds me too much of Johanna's torture. They would make me listen as she cried and screamed and begged next to my cell. And tears would slip down having to hear her suffering, all the while chained so I couldn't move and could only stay there with my head against the bar as warm blood suddenly came to touch my skin. It was all deliberate. He did it to torture me, not her. But still water spilled and her protests grew louder as I could hear them dragging her towards whatever it was. They never let me see what it was, but hearing was enough. And that was just the beginning. It was always just the beginning of more. Before my own punishments actually started. 

He hands me a blank piece of paper and pen. I take them without question but then only just look at the both in my hands, unsure of what he wants me to do. I'm guessing draw, which I would have probably ended up doing anyway, but he immediately cuts that idea to tell me:

"I want you to write to her, Peeta."

I don't think I hear him correctly.

"To Katniss?," I practically breathe the words in question.

"Yes."

I'm still confused as he walks back to the door. I'm still only staring when he turns to me at the threshold and gives a nod to what I'm holding. 

"Just write."

Once he's gone, I pull out a stool to sit down. It takes me a while to start. Maybe an hour to get out of my lost thoughts and then a few minutes to begin because my hand is trembling in all my thinking. I can't help wondering if this is a test in a way. A test to see if I'm truly getting better, or if I will break down at something as small as writing a letter. This shouldn't cause an episode. It's only a letter. But it's a letter to her. And maybe that's what gets the first words in, because soon the page is full.

 

* * *

 

He assigns me to write a new letter every 2 weeks. After the first letter, most of the others are short. I'm not really sure if he's sending them, but I trust that he is. At the same time there's some relief if he isn't. I don't know what I'll do if she writes back, but I keep writing anyway.

_Dear Katniss,_

_I'm worried about you. It's been months. Dr. Aurelius told me you haven't been answering his calls. That's the only thing he's told me about you. We've made some progress. Now we know a few more things that trigger my episodes. He likes to call them 'episodes'. I personally don't like that he calls them that way. But they come and go, so I guess it suits. Today I had a memory. Snow wasn't able to mess with this one, and I think it's because you had gotten out of the train when they said we would have to stop for fuel. You got mad at Effie. It's understandable. I think I remember being a little annoyed too, but at the same time I still haven't met someone so passionate about planning like her. Anyway, I followed you. You told me your favorite color. I know we already talked about this before, but it came to me today again. I realize how happy I was after, that you'd shared that small bit of information with me. And I thought reminding you of it here would make you decide to look outside. It's summer, after all. Your color is all over the place._

_Sincerely yours_

_Peeta_

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Katniss,_

_I can imagine all these letters are probably gathering in your mailbox. I hope you're well. How is Haymitch? I haven't heard from him. Still in a drunken stoop, I bet. Plutarch came to visit. He saw my paintings. I said no to showcasing them. He's still happy and merry, kinda oblivious. Your singing came to my mind. You know, I actually haven't heard you sing ever since we were kids. I realize that's when you sang a full song. It makes me want to hear your voice now._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Peeta_

 

* * *

_Dear Katniss,_

_I had a bad dream about you. I hope you're safe._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Peeta_

* * *

_Dear Katniss,_

  * _You dislike coffee._
  * _You have a fondness for strawberries._
  * _You and Prim used to stop by the bakery to look at the cakes at the window._
  * _You love summer, but spring is more your favorite because of the rain despite how annoyed and irritated it made you when it was all moist and misty._
  * _When Autumn first came into the month, you slowed your walk to admire the leaves._
  * _Your favorite color is green (I still wanted to count that in)_
  * _Despite liking cheese buns a lot, you also liked anything that I baked with cinnamon._
  * _During the victory tour, you liked to look out the window for a few minutes to see the moon and the stars to confirm it was really your sky and not the one from the arena._
  * _Once when we were still in school, I saw you stop at the door of the music room, but you just lingered there. You didn't go in._



_I wanted to return the favor of reminding me. Thank you._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Peeta_

* * *

 

 

_Dear Katniss,_

_I'm coming home._

_See you soon,_

_Peeta_

* * *

 

 

I only see her for a brief moment. But that's okay. None of my letters have been opened. But that's okay too. Because I'm here now.

I'm here now.

 

 

 


End file.
